Sleep
by PaperFrames
Summary: "She's like the wind, a force of nature coming and going whenever it pleases, and each time taking a bit of him with her. The yearning in his chest grows, outweighing any shame his catholic guilt tells him he should feel for staring at her . . . " Elliot watches Olivia sleep (in a non-creepy way, promise). Originally written anonymously for catsandsvu or oliviatlantis on tumblr.


A/N: Once again, if you've opened this expecting to find Scandal, I'm sorry. I'll have news on that soon, though. Promise.

This came to me last night at like midnight, and I wrote anonymously in catsandsvu's tumblr inbox (this is dedicated to her, btw; she's fantastic). everyone wants to unmask me on tumblr, so I thought I'd post it here since it seemed to be liked there. E/O Is my OTP of all OTPS. They're my stupid stubborn babies and I will go down with this ship. First crack at E/O, so I hope it's received well. This is just a drabble like thing, too. Hope you like. Drop me a line and review if you do!

* * *

_You mean that much to me_  
_And it's hard to show_  
_Gets hectic inside of me_  
_When you go_  
_Can I confess these things_  
_To you_  
_Well I don't know_  
_Embedded in my chest_  
_And it_  
_Hurts to hold_

_-Nighttime, The xx_

He's tired and worn; and wonders sometimes how much more he can take. The job's not what it used to be and neither is he. He's no longer a fresh faced detective willing and able to put his body on the line without hesitation. No, he's a father of five with a wife, and a house, and responsibilities; and damn it he's tired. From the tip of his calloused fingers down to his sore, booted toes; Elliot is tired. Mentally, physically – he's just tired.

Like countless nights before he finds his way to the cribs; too exhausted to drive home; too much in his own machismo to ask someone to take him home; and too caught up in his own head to even think of heading home. But as he pulls his black dress shoes off and settles into the thin mattress of the hard cot, she catches his eye.

_Olivia. _

Her long and shapely body is curled into a soft ball; her knees are pulled up against her stomach, and her hands are tucked under her chin. Dark brown strands of hair hang limply across her face, and he can see the rise and fall of her chest as she sleeps. He'd forgotten that he'd sent her to the crib nearly an hour ago to sleep after she'd refused to go home to her empty apartment. Ever since Calvin was taken away, Elliot has notice an unmistakable shift in Olivia, and he can't help but want to make her better; take her pain away.

She's always been his saving grace. His reprieve from the relentlessly raging storm inside his chest – his mind, and he wishes he could find a way to do the same for her.

His eyes flicker over her form intently, and he feels a small nagging bud of shame build inside him. _He's ogling his partner_. Oh how she'd have his ass if she could see him. And he knows (of course he knows) that he should avert his eyes and take himself to sleep; do as she is, and just ignore the pull she's had on him since day one when she extended her hand and introduced herself as Olivia Benson. But a bigger part of him, the part of him that yearns to protect her so viscerally day in and day out, shamelessly revels in being able to watch her so openly in such an intimate way.

Sure he's seen her sleep before, but usually in the car seat next to him, scrunched up in an uncomfortable ball with one eye open in constant surveillance – or even as he's preparing to wake her from her crib slumber. But right now, undeterred by the public eye, whispering secrets of his supposed infidelity, he gets to watch her, in her purest of forms, uninhibited by consciousness. And he does. He lets his eyes rove over the curve of her side as it dips and then splays outward to form her shapely hips. He lets his eyes linger on the bit of cleavage he can see through the crossing of her hands tucked under her chin. And he finds – as he's discovered countless times before, she is beautiful, every inch of her. And he can't help but wonder, only for a small moment, what it'd be like to press his lips against the base of her neck to taste her soft flesh, hold his hand over her heart to feel the rhythmic beating.

Oh how he wishes he could just slide in next to her and wrap an arm around her waist, pull her close and never let go. But he can't, and he chides himself mentally for his less than congenial thoughts. He has obligations, a family; and _she_ is not his. She's like the wind, a force of nature coming and going whenever it pleases, and each time taking a bit of him with her. The yearning in his chest grows, outweighing any shame his catholic guilt tells him he should feel for staring at her so obsessively, and then he sighs heavily.

Olivia shifts on the cot, and her hands drop from her chin to her chest as she takes a deep breath in, still peacefully locked in her slumber.

Finally Elliot lies down, but his eyes remain glued to Olivia, watching as her chest rises and falls with signs of life.

He's so damn tired; tired of life, of living the way he thinks he has to, of running after perps, of – of . . . he's tired. Yet, as the thin mattress jostles under him as he tries to get comfortable, he keeps his eyes open until he can't any longer, just to watch her sleep.


End file.
